


Magic

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Vhenan AU [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elvhenan, Arlathan, Elvhenan Culture and Customs, F/M, Former Courtesan Lyna, Young Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: Lyna dances in the spring and Solas is enraptured, enthralled by her. Though she uses no magic when she dances, he finally understands the term "like magic."





	Magic

Magic was simply the way of things in Elvhenan. It was woven into the very fabric of the stones that sheltered the People. Yet the dwarves and especially the humans, when the People were forced to mingle with the shemlen, would exclaim in wonder that something was “like magic” when magic had nothing to do with it’s creation or why it was beautiful. This had always seemed counterintuitive and ridiculous to Solas, the concept that non-magical things would be compared to magic, yet he finally understood.

Lyna did not use magic when she danced, despite it being common practice to weave magic into all forms of art. She did not imbue her limbs with extra grace or make the air around her shimmer or provide a backdrop more glamorous than the hall in which she performed. When she danced, it was purely physical, her sweat running unheeded down her body as she tossed herself across the stage.

All eyes were riveted to her, the crowd at Mythal’s high table murmuring appreciatively of the performance. The dance was sensual, seductive, as was traditional for spring and the season of renewal. Solas always had the insane and counterproductive urge to hide Lyna away during the spring. It would win them no favors and would likely incur the wrath of the nobles, but he wanted those sensual hips to sway like that for none but him.

As the dance went on, longer than any other and far more beautiful, the murmurs of appreciation filled with lust, men and women wishing out loud that she were still a courtesan for sale and trying to outbid each other jokingly for her attention. Solas wanted to kill them all, and the only thing that kept him in his seat was her eyes.

With each twist and turn, every time she faced the head table, her eyes were locked with his. When she spun round and round, arms high in the air and toes pointed straight up, he was the anchor for her gaze to keep her from dizziness. Every time his fists clenched under the table from the awful remarks about her that surrounded him, she smiled. She knew. She knew what they said and what they thought, how her grace and beauty drew their attention and in what direction, but she was his. And he was hers.

And none of it was magic. There was no power in her gaze or in his beyond that of their love and devotion to each other. And as the dance ended, at last, Lyna finished with a flourish of her hands, her eyes finally leaving Solas’s only long enough to watch her own gesturing as she fluttered her hands so that the thin white lines of their marriage, the only magic she wore, glimmered in the light of many fires. She flaunted her bond to him in the most graceful way possible as she fell, slowly, into a bow.

And then the dance was over and she curtsied briefly before returning to her place beside him at the head table amidst thunderous applause and calls for more. She was breathing heavily, victory in her gaze at her flawless performance, and she kissed his cheek before downing three glasses of water. Her hand held his as she did so, thumb running over and over the white lines on the back of his hand where their marriage bound them together, a ribbon of magic they would never forsake.

“It was perfect, ma sa'lath,” Solas murmured to her. She grinned and kissed him deeply, holding his jaw and nibbling his lips, and he was helpless beneath her touch, slave to her will.

“I hope the boar I killed goes over half as well,” she quipped, a mischievous light in her eyes as she popped a forkful of the aforementioned meat into her mouth. She winked and he had to struggle to contain his laughter at what she suggested for those who had been eyeing her as though she had no more autonomy than the meat she’d put on their plates.

And it was not magic, but her love and understanding and devotion to him above all others was, in many ways, better than magic. It was truth and purity and passion in ways that magic could not mimic. She was magical.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyna just said that the people objectifying her can go fuck a dead pig. I love her and I need to write her sense of humor more often!
> 
> This was originally a prompt fill for @dadrunkwriting because someone apparently likes my Elvhenan AU. Yay! I'm glad it isn't shit!
> 
> ... It's kind of shit.


End file.
